


haven't met the new me yet

by softambrollins



Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Fingering, Angry Sex, Angst, Banter, Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Character Study, Depression, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Baggage, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, Hopeful Ending, Humiliation, Insecurity, Jealousy, Loneliness, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Neediness, Obsessive Behavior, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Break Up, Rival Sex, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Sexual Fantasy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, i guess, seth having sex with kenny who he hates and who's fucking dean because he's a fucking Mess, this wasn't supposed to have a hopeful ending but i'm a sap, threesome by proxy?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29913447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softambrollins/pseuds/softambrollins
Summary: And it's not like they ever promised each other anything. Seth had to let him go so he could do what makes him happy, be someone else, someone who's free to fuck whoever he wants. Like Kenny fucking Omega. The guy he's been compared to his whole damn career. The guy he's been subconsciously chasing for years when he wasn't chasingDean. Like it's not his worst fucking nightmare coming to life.Sometimes when you're a needy, insecure, little slut like Seth, with no title and no friends, who's just been psychologically broken by a demonic clown, you just have to fuck the guy your ex-boyfriend's been fucking (and who just happens to be your greatest untested rival) to feel alive again.
Relationships: Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley/Kenny Omega, Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley/Seth Rollins | Tyler Black, Ibushi Kota/Kenny Omega, Kenny Omega/Seth Rollins | Tyler Black
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	haven't met the new me yet

**Author's Note:**

> Set post-Dynamite November 6th 2019. That is, also the same week [Seth lost the Universal Title to The Fiend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20766083), [lost an NXT Title match to Adam Cole on RAW](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21370735) ([with Hunter in his corner](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21334057)), and Mox and Kenny had their first match at Full Gear. Which is a lot for anyone to handle, much less our favourite emo, jealous, insecure, self-sabotaging, subby princess who's still dealing (pretty badly) with his soulmate leaving him. It's ostensibly Seth/Kenny, but it's really Seth Rollins/the 'better' version of Seth Rollins conjured by his crippling insecurity/the ghost of Dean Ambrose/Seth Rollins' self-loathing, but there isn't a tag for that, unfortunately.
> 
> I really don't know what this is. This is definitely OOC. I don't know anything about Omega, or AEW, and I don't know what I'm doing with my life. Don't @ me.

He didn't tell anyone he was gonna be there. He figured plausible deniability was always a good idea, and if no one knew, then there was a significantly lower chance of it getting leaked. He would've definitely been in a world of shit if anyone in the audience recognised him or if it got back to management or if god forbid, the fucking press caught wind of it — But a more immediate concern was if anyone on their roster figured it out first, because after all the bold, provocative claims he'd made in the last few months about their little start-up, he was sure there were at least a couple dudes in the back who wouldn't mind a piece of him when he was woefully outnumbered and stranded deep behind enemy lines. 

So, he'd just pulled his hat down lower over his eyes, shoulders hunched and arms crossed, head ducked so far that his chin was almost touching chest, hood obscuring his face as he sat there in the middle of the crowd that felt like a breathing, pulsing creature that could easily swallow him whole. Watching as the action unfolded in the ring, Dean confronting Omega with a barbed wire bat and the two of them clashing once again days before their highly anticipated lights-out showdown; and as it spilled outside, onto the ramp and seemingly everywhere, until there were tangles of bodies brawling up and down and in every direction and everything devolved into chaos and he lost sight of him completely in the melee.

He briskly headed for the exit as soon as the broadcast was over and walking away across the parking lot and into the distance with the cold, outdoor air on his skin felt like a relief. Where he couldn't be seen, where he almost didn't exist.

But two hours later, he's here, trying to act inconspicuous and like he belongs. His eyes are discreetly tracking the comings and goings and scanning around the bar every couple minutes both to see if he's shown up — typically fashionably late and low-key and already half-buzzed and probably through a side door somewhere; one minute he's not here and the other, everyone's gravitating towards him and he's already in the midst of making them all laugh with a dirty joke or a wildly implausible, completely true story or his surprisingly dry wit and he's the only thing in the entire room, the entire world, that Seth can see — and to avoid anyone who might be suspicious about his own presence here. He's still in hostile territory now, no matter how much he tries to blend in, and he's not taking any chances. 

There's apparently a significant flaw in the execution of his plan, though, because his eyes are drawn to a tall, bearded guy in a dark leather jacket breaking away from a raucous group at a table in the back and making a beeline for the bathroom, turning to look back at the last moment before he disappears inside, and _it's not him_ and Seth releases his breath, hand relaxing on the bartop — and while he's preoccupied with the distraction and fails to even notice who's coming in the front door and approaching at his back, someone quietly takes the empty seat next to him.

"He's not coming," the person sitting next to him says, in the tone of someone delivering disappointing but unsurprising news. And Seth spins around on his stool abruptly, eyes wide and taking shallow breaths through his mouth, unable to hide his trepidation. His voice is only familiar from videos and sure, they have mutual friends because their sport is a small world where everyone is connected in some way, everyone has history or shared experiences whether they know it or not, but Seth thinks it's been years since they had anything resembling an actual, in-person conversation. He can barely even remember anything about it now, it's as distant as the last time they were in a ring together over ten years ago when he was pretty much still a kid, when he didn't have a clue about who he was or anything else — but he says it like they _know_ each other somehow. Like they have something important in common without Seth even being aware of it. When they're practically strangers except for intriguing fantasy match scenarios that are pitched from time to time and are probably just far-fetched dreams now.

He looks up now to see Kenny Omega right there in the flesh, regarding him like he's not even surprised to see him here, like this is a totally ordinary occurrence. He's wearing sunglasses, inside, at night because he _would_ be, and an expensive-looking blazer over a white shirt with the first few buttons undone, revealing a thin strip of bare chest. And something about him sitting there, effortlessly cool and confident, his stupid hair artfully tousled, curls spilling over the side of his forehead, sends a pang through him. He looks the way Seth used to years ago when he actually had a direction in life. When he didn't just impulsively get on a plane to loiter in questionable dive bars halfway across the country hoping for something he's not even remotely entitled to anymore. When the world was entirely _his_ and he didn't betray any weakness in front of a damn soul.

He's honestly getting kind of sick and tired this week of being confronted with endless reminders of the person he once was. Failing to win the NXT title two nights ago — the title that was _his_ before it was anyone else's, because of Cole's pack of dogs who all too closely resemble something that once was the realest thing in his life but that's just a ghost and a legend now, with Hunter watching from ringside sizing him up the way he used to, after losing the Universal title to a creature who preyed on all his worst fears and darkest deeds — was bad enough. He doesn't think he can take too many more of these insults piled on top of the still raw, lingering injury. It's just been hit after hit for months, since May when Dean showed up _over there_ , to confront Omega, since before that — But in typical fashion, the universe doesn't seem to be quite done with him yet. Some part of Seth always knew that he'd probably be paying for all his sins for the rest of his life, and maybe he'll always deserve every single new blow that's inflicted on his husk of a heart.

Omega looks visibly pleased to see that Seth's shaken-up now just by his presence, the corner of his lips curling upwards faintly, and even through the dark glasses, he looks like he can read everything Seth's thinking on his face, including the exact reason he came here. "He has more important things to do than...well, _you_ ," he continues in a careless drawl.

He didn't ask Dean to meet him here, he hasn't even _talked_ to Dean since June when he typically made a mess of everything by being a selfish, insecure asshole, no one knows he's here at all except for apparently Kenny goddamn Omega, but he'd heard from reliable sources that this was his best bet to find him after the show.

He has a million questions on the tip of his tongue, but he's already on the back foot here so he's not gonna show any more of his cards than he has to. Especially not in response to Omega's insufferable unbothered, all-knowing bullshit. Which has to be an act just to intimidate him. He's had enough experience with slimy, manipulative douchebags. He used to _be_ one of them.

"How do _you_ know?" he asks skeptically, trying to keep his voice light and relaxed. 

Omega takes his shades off now, sets them down on the bar, gives him a cursory once-over out of the corner of his eye like he's beneath his consideration.

But he doesn't answer. He just raises his glance to the barkeep instead, nods at him, and then a drink appears in front of him. He tilts his head over to Seth in a vague gesture and a glass finds its way to him too. It's whiskey on the rocks, Dean's drink, and his stomach aches dully.

"Because I was with him tonight. And _last night_ ," Omega says finally, tonelessly, like he was deliberately trying to draw out the tension.

Seth huffs a startled laugh. "You're lying." Because that's fucking _impossible_. Because Dean wouldn't, not with — 

Omega tilts his head, cocks an eyebrow at him now, like Seth's just a target of pity, ridicule. Like he's fucking pathetic and delusional. "You really think he was gonna still be hung up on _you_? He left all of that behind. That whole life. Including you. You're not special. There's nothing you gave him that he can't get somewhere else."

And he's right. Seth's nothing special. He never was. He couldn't even do the _one thing_ he promised he would and keep the title, be the leader that would carry them out of these fraught times. He's got nothing now. Not even the people who always stood by him, who forgave him and accepted him, who he swore he would never let down. But of course he did, because that's just what he _always_ does. All he knows is how to disappoint anyone who has the misfortune of giving a shit about him. That's why he's here. And Dean still doesn't care because he's way better off now, far away from him. Because Seth's just a miserable, bitter bastard who drags everyone down with him in the end. 

And it's not like they ever promised each other anything. Seth had to let him go so he could do what makes him happy, be someone else, someone who's free to fuck whoever he wants. Like Kenny fucking Omega. The guy he's been compared to his whole damn career. The guy he's been subconsciously chasing for years when he wasn't chasing _Dean_. Like it's not his worst fucking nightmare coming to life. 

Seth takes a long swig of his drink to stop the uneasiness crawling under his skin and it burns all the way down and maybe that's better than the hollowness he's felt all week, since April when everything broke irrevocably.

"He doesn't give a shit about you. You're just the flavour of the month, Omega," he tells him, voice low and thrumming with the edge of a threat.

Omega leans back in his seat, looks over at him appraisingly, hand curled around his glass, swirling his drink around lazily. "Have you _always_ been this pathetic, Rollins?" he says, eyes narrowed, like he's genuinely curious.

"Shut the fuck up," he says, unable to restrain his anger now.

He leans in closer to him now, eyes studying him intently. "I know you and Ambrose had something for a long time, and I respect that, but this is not a good look, man. Not for someone who claims to be the best wrestler on a planet where Kenny Omega already exists. People are gonna think that you've _really_ fucking lost it. Just some free advice from a concerned bystander," he says with a shrug, pulling away from him again. 

Seth just smiles at him bloodlessly. "You know what, I hate to break it to you, but this whole overcooked anime villain thing you have going on — It's cringey as fuck," he tells him apologetically.

Omega just laughs like he's heard it all before.

"Don't worry about me, Seth. At least everyone knows how _cool_ you are, Mr. Hashtag," he deadpans.

"And what about _you_?" Seth bites out, like it's just occurred to him. "Didn't you have something for a long time too? What happened to _him_?"

He waits until he sees that sink in, Omega's eyes going steely and darkening, mouth setting in a tense line, but he doesn't wait for him to respond.

"Actually, last I heard, he's doing fucking amazing. _Without you_ ," Seth says flippantly. "Maybe _you're_ just as pathetic, pining over him like a lovesick puppy to any poor, unsuspecting journalist who sticks a mic in your face. It's _sad_ , honestly. I feel sorry for you."

"Don't fucking talk about that," Omega says, and it feels good, knowing that somewhere deep down, he's missing something vital too. Maybe that's why he's here to rub this in his face. Seth knows all about hurting other people to hide from your own aching misery.

Seth chuckles under his breath, feeling the adrenaline rising in him now, and this is better. If Dean's not gonna show tonight, then maybe he can make do with a fight instead. One he's been gearing up for for ten years. That would probably be _more_ than worth the trip here. Fuck the headlines tomorrow. "Oh, struck a nerve, huh? Guess the infamous Cleaner has feelings after all. So you're just filling a void, right? It doesn't mean anything." 

Omega just levels a cutting glare at him. "If that's true, then why do you look like you wanna fucking kill me?" he counters, not taking the bait this time.

Seth just grinds his teeth together hard, one hand tightly clutching his glass, the other clenched into a fist on the wooden bartop, so tense it's almost shaking. "Why'd it have to be _you_?" he bursts out furiously, mouth twisting into a disgusted sneer.

"Oh, _that's_ it. You're not mad that he fucked someone else. You're mad that it was the only person who you know is _better_ than you," Omega says, eyes lighting up with an almost delighted realisation now.

"You don't know shit about me and him. And you're definitely not better than me," Seth says dismissively, but he's basically chugging his drink now, trying to stop his hands from trembling, and the alcohol's burning through his air passages now until there's a sharp, sudden rush of hot pain to his head, radiating outwards, and he can barely see or hear anything anymore, ears filling with static.

It can't keep out his voice though, piercing through the low hum, in the bar, in his head, like a cold, precise blade. "I know you keep crying about him leaving you for greener pastures. I know you keep crying because _I'm_ never gonna give you the dream match you want so bad. Maybe it kills you a little. That he wants to fight _me_. And that he gets what you've always wanted. Which one hurts more, huh?" he says, voice deliberately quiet and smooth.

"Just leave me the fuck alone," he tells him, eyes squeezing shut tightly for a second, voice slurred and desperate. "Or I'm gonna stomp your fucking head into the ground. Right here."

He turns away from him finally, springs to his feet, grabs his glass and drains the dregs before slamming it back down, and then he pushes away from the bar and gets away from him as fast as he can like he's gonna be fucking sick just from the proximity. He wishes he never had to fucking _look_ at Kenny Omega ever again.

He stumbles blindly through the crowd, jostling against bodies carelessly, and barrels his way through the door into the small bathroom, which is thankfully empty now.

He stands by the sink, hands braced on the edge of the smooth, cool ceramic, shoulders sagging and head bowed, swiftly shaking it from side to side, like he's shaking off Omega's stare, his voice, shaking off the fucking images that are now playing on a reel in his head.

He slowly lifts his gaze to the smudged, greasy, smoke-clouded mirror and he barely recognises himself. Like he's a fucking ghost too. Maybe Dean's not the only person who's changed. Maybe he just found someone better than Seth because Seth is a fucking wretched excuse for a human being. Because he never _learns_. Because he just poisons every single good thing in his life, over and over again, until they all leave him, cold and empty. He's just an irredeemable dick who lashes out at the people he supposedly cares about on the fucking internet instead of talking to them like a well-adjusted person and who stubbornly refuses to apologise and blames everyone else instead and who comes crawling back when he's been broken down completely like a needy, despicable parasite hoping for — what exactly?

He turns the tap on, just lets the water flow for a few moments, staring at himself, vision blurring as the alcohol starts flooding his bloodstream and everything, inside and outside of him, goes dull around the edges. Until he doesn't feel like a person anymore, because he's been so much less for so long. Until this unbearable agony swelling in him doesn't feel like it's gonna fucking consume him.

It doesn't last long though.

He jerks upright as the door slowly swings open with a loud creak that reverberates inside his skull. And Omega's standing there, because _of course_ he is. He turns around and closes it with a quiet snap and casually slides the door latch shut behind them like he's gonna _keep_ him here and torture him just with his fucking presence for as long as he pleases. Seth just recoils away from him, takes a step back, arms slightly outstretched and swaying in front of him, as if to balance himself.

He drops them to his sides now, curling into the thighs of his jeans, his whole body shaking slightly as Omega regards him.

"You don't look too good, man," he says, but the feigned concern doesn't reach his eyes.

Seth swallows the bile in his throat.

"I said _leave me alone_ ," he articulates clearly, chest heaving.

Omega just slowly walks closer until he's standing in the middle of the space, feet spread shoulder-width on the floor, his posture loose and relaxed. "You came here for something," he says and it's almost gentle, understanding, now.

"That was a fucking mistake," Seth says, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down on it hard before releasing it with a sharp exhale.

"So, that's why you're here? You're jealous because he's chasing _me_? That he's putting my head through glass tables and coming after me with a fucking barbed wire bat? _That's_ what you want?" he says, like he's almost intrigued by Seth now, face impassive except for his slightly raised eyebrows.

Seths shakes his head uselessly. "Maybe I just want _something_. Something that's _mine_. Something that feels right because _everything_ has been so fucking _wrong_."

He looks sideways at his reflection in the mirror again and he wants to fucking smash it. Wants to smash this whole fucking new world they live in now where Dean's a million miles away and Seth will never be worthy of any fucking part of him ever again.

Omega just narrows his eyes at him and then he licks over his lips with the tip of his tongue and he slowly comes closer.

Before he knows what's happening, he's crowding him back against the wall and Seth should shove him off, should drag him to the ground and show him _exactly_ who the best in the fucking world is, fuck everyone's wet dream Wrestlemania main event, pounding him into the filthy floor of this dive bar bathroom with no one watching will be a million times more satisfying — but he _doesn't_. He does nothing. It's like he's back in the arena tonight, watching it all happen, Dean's life going on without him, or back when he was trapped with The Fiend, in the Cell, in his own body. Watching Dean walk away, watching his title being stolen from his grasp, everything out of his fucking hands. Just a spectator frozen in time, utterly powerless to intervene as his entire world, everything he's ever cared about, turns strange and dark and foreign, and slips away from him all at once.

Omega breathes hot and wet against his neck, hands trailing over his chest through his t-shirt, and Seth suddenly can't move.

"You wanted him to fuck you, huh? Right here in this dirty bathroom? With all his new friends outside? Like a shameful secret? That's how much you think you're worth? That's what you get off on?" he says, punctuating his words with a bite at his pulse point.

"Shut up," Seth mutters, eyes closed, flinching away as far as he can go, his head falling back against the cool surface behind him. And he tries to shove him away now but it's half-hearted, his limbs feeling heavy and uncoordinated suddenly, and his hands just linger on his chest, grasping at the front of his silky shirt instead.

Omega pins his hips to the wall behind him with both hands, their chests pressed together, his stubble grazing against Seth's neck, the hard concrete grinding into his tailbone roughly, and then he reaches down with one hand and carefully, firmly palms him through his jeans.

Seth slowly raises his head to look him in the eyes, watching as Omega's go bright with electricity. He nods at him eagerly, like something makes sense suddenly. But nothing about this makes _any_ fucking sense. He supposes that's just his entire life now, though. Everything he does just makes it all _worse_ , like fucking _coming here_ in the first place, so maybe it's better to not be in control of anything. "Yeah, that's what you wanted. And I don't blame you. He's a really good fuck —"

Seth grabs him roughly by the neck and wrenches his head away and then he slaps him across the face, but the angle's off and it's only a glancing strike without any real strength behind it.

Omega just swears and wipes a hand across his mouth, laughing, before he pushes closer again, and for one wild, insane moment, he almost feels like Dean.

"Okay, maybe I see why he likes you now. Feisty, huh? You're both fucking firecrackers, huh — I bet it was even better in the sack than in the ring, which would be _saying_ something — Wouldn't mind knowing more about that firsthand —" And he's thinking about Omega watching their matches now, ostensibly just for scouting purposes but _more_ than that in reality, watching as Dean pins him to the mat, his heavy body pressing into his own everywhere like he was made to fit in that space, his hands all over his skin — And Dean's in his head but Omega's body is the one holding his down now and his voice won't stop echoing around in his ears, creeping inside and infecting him like a disease he craves, and it should be unbalancing and disturbing but it's better than nothing.

Seth feels himself start to resist, give in to this, like he's floating away, on the whiskey in his veins, on the memory of Dean's taste on his lips. Their hips grind together and he feels that Omega's hard against him too and _god_ , it's been so long since a warm, solid body was dragging against his like this, responding to his, feeling the same thing he does, even if it's the last fucking person in the world he wants it to be.

Omega undoes Seth's jeans and lets them slide down and he hooks his fingers inside his underwear and pushes them halfway down his legs. His already hard dick springs free and Omega closes his hand around him, holding him firmly, eyes going distant and glassy now, like he's adjusting to the feeling or like he's remembering something too — And then he's stroking him, fingertips pressing into his solid heat, thumb brushing over the pulsing vein on the underside of his length, wrist twisting over the head at the end of each upstroke. 

And fuck, it feels _good_ , his body reacting all on its own like it's muscle memory and he can almost hear Dean's deep, raspy voice in his ear now as his eyes fall shut, telling him to _relax, stop thinking so much, let go, just feel it —_

Except now it's someone else. "Is that how he used to touch you?" he asks, voice quiet and intent and too velvety-slick, a stranger's, and it's startling. 

But he just shakes his head, tries to push it away. " _Harder_ ," he urges.

Omega obliges, his strokes getting faster and rougher between them, and Seth presses into his hand now, rolling his hips so he's acutely aware of the entire length of his firm, warm body against his own, soft gasps falling from his lips with every collision.

When he's right on the edge and desperately rutting against him, Omega just stops, the motions of his hand slowing, and instead, he grasps him tight and nudges his thumb nail against the ridge under the head of his dick, slowly rotating his hand so he's skimming it all the way around, and then he massages his palm over the silky tip, smearing the moisture collected there around, and he can feel himself leaking even more onto his hand and dripping onto his thighs.

Seth hears a loud moan escape his throat before he can stifle it, feeling the ghost of Dean's hand on him from months ago, years ago, slowly touching him just like this, both of them lying on his bed, his body pressing Seth's down into the mattress, his eyes fixed on Seth's, enjoying making him feel good — 

Omega breaks the spell abruptly by reaching up and putting the fingers of his other hand in his mouth, like he wants him to be quiet, and it's frustrating for a second but Seth keeps his eyes shut and sucks them in absently, licking over them, trying to silently tell him to keep going, keep touching him just like that. He slides his fingers out of his mouth and then Seth feels his body move over to his side a little and all at once, his hand's curving around the swell of his bare ass and one finger's pushing inside his rim — And Seth swears loudly from the shock, the sudden intrusion, eyes blinking wide open.

"He told me you like this," Omega teases, ignoring his reaction, just pressing in deeper, adding another finger.

"You fucking _asshole_ ," he snarls, glaring at him.

"I don't know. _Feels_ like you like it," he observes as Seth feels his hole opening up of its own volition, trying to take his fingers in deeper, keep them there. "Bet you can come from just my fingers fucking you. Bet you're _that_ easy. You're just a slut for a man taking control of you, huh?"

Seth shakes his head vigorously. "Not _you_ ," he argues even though it's currently totally pointless.

"Well, I get that," Omega concedes, nodding, like somehow they've finally stumbled upon some common ground amongst this whole clusterfuck they've found themselves in. "Maybe it's good to give up control when you have to be in control all the time, in the ring, in your actual life."

"Is that why you let him fuck you?" Seth asks bluntly.

"Oh, you wanna _know_ , huh?" he says, smiling now with the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth, like a predator who's just lured him into his lair.

And he does and he doesn't; he _needs_ to hear it and he thinks it might kill him at the same time.

Omega presses his fingers in deeper just like Seth wants, keeps them there, grazing back and forth over his prostate. And he starts jerking him off hard again, all rough skin and burning friction. And Seth's practically fucking himself on his other hand, desperately clenching around him, craving the fullness and the warm pressure inside him. And it only takes one, two, three strokes before Omega's hand is twisting almost painfully at the swollen, throbbing, dark red head and Seth spills all over the tiled floor in front of him with a hoarse, cut-off shout. 

He vaguely registers Omega side-stepping away from him in a strangely detached manner as his legs go weak and he almost doubles over, panting for air, clutching his chest like it's gonna explode. And it feels _good_ , it's the best thing he's felt in fucking _months_. It's so much better than the hollow, clawing darkness.

When he looks up, Omega's staring at a streak of Seth's come on his wrist like it's mildly interesting. "At least you didn't come on my pants though, because you wouldn't fucking _believe_ how much these cost," he tells him seriously.

Seth just rolls his eyes at him and reaches down and pulls his underwear and pants back on, taking deep, measured breaths until it feels like his heart is beating normally again. 

When he raises back up, Omega's in his space again and he reaches out and touches his hand to the side of his face, brushing sweaty hair out of his eyes, almost tender, and they stare at each other for a long, quiet moment, Seth forgetting to breathe at all now. And Seth turns his head and silently licks his wrist clean.

"Want me to show you what he did to me?" Omega asks casually.

It spills from his mouth of its own will. "Yeah. Yes. _Please_."

Omega actually has the decency to not look aggravatingly self-satisfied about that. He just drops his hand and steps back a little, and Seth just goes with him unthinkingly, like he can't keep his own body upright anymore without touching him. He keeps staring at Seth as he shrugs his jacket off of his shoulders and lets it fall to the floor nonchalantly.

Seth fists a hand in the side of his stupid, uneven, highlighted curls, leans forward so that their foreheads are pressed together firmly, almost painfully.

This close up, his blue eyes almost look like Dean's, but then he pulls away and it's all _wrong_ again and he almost feels sick again, the alcohol churning in his stomach.

"I hate your fucking hair," Seth spits at him scathingly, pulling at it roughly.

Omega laughs and it's a strange, foreign sound and he wonders if Dean's getting used to that, the way he's familiar with every single part of Seth. But maybe he's forgetting now too. Maybe he's really left that person he used to be and everything he had behind for good.

"I fucking _hate_ you," Seth says, weakly pushing him away but his fingers are curled around the back of his neck so he can't go too far anyway.

"You don't even _know_ me, darling," he says rocking back on his heels in a smooth, elegant motion and coming right back into his space and Seth wants to aim a fist at his stupid, smug jawline.

And maybe he doesn't know him, he _doesn't_ , but it kind of feels like Omega knows _him_. And maybe in some strange, twisted way, this is all he has left of Dean now too.

Seth grabs him by the front of his shirt and surges up and kisses him, and Omega meets him right there with every catch and drag of lips, not giving an inch. And it's different than with Dean, more like a strategic contact sport and less like a heated war, but at least he tastes like the same whiskey that Dean does right now. That's enough. That's all he needs.

He grasps his jaw in his hand tightly, wanting it to hurt, wanting to make him feel something, and he tugs his lip into his mouth, sucks on it, licks the inside greedily. He tilts Omega's head back slightly so he can kiss his way down his chin and his jaw and then over his throat, not breaking the contact as he slides his hands down his chest and starts hastily undoing the rest of the buttons on his shirt.

The scratch of his beard on Seth's lips is a familiar sensation with his eyes shut. He trails a line down his neck and the centre of his chest as he reveals more skin, his mouth open, tongue flicking out, trying to taste some lingering remnant of Dean on his skin, his deodorant, his sweat, his mouth, his come — 

He moves over to the side, mouth brushing over his pec, pausing for a moment as his eyes flutter open again, carefully tracing over the muscles rippling under his skin. He notices now that there's a small, dark bruise on his collarbone. It could be from the ring but he can just _imagine_ Dean's mouth closing around that exact spot, licking at it aggressively, teeth nipping at the tender skin. He raises his head up a little and puts his lips right against the dark bruise, closes his eyes for a second, until Omega's hand clenches impatiently in his hair.

He pulls away again as he untucks Omega's shirt and opens it wide, hands hooking around his hipbones as he keeps exploring his skin, presses his mouth to his firm abs and along the faint dustings of hair above the waistband of his pants. He reaches up and unbuckles his belt, lets his stupid expensive slacks fall until they're pooled around his ankles, dragging on the disgusting floor. He slides his underwear off of his hips a little, mouthing over the exposed V leading to his already burning core, his nose buried in the coarse hair, feeling the friction on his skin — and it's not _right_ , his soap's different and his skin is almost sweet, not wild and earthy like Dean is — but then he swiftly peels his underwear off of his straining dick and he forgets about it.

There's something peaceful about being on his knees like this. Like nothing else exists, like everything just goes so still and quiet. He eagerly takes his dick in both hands, and he's not as girthy as Dean is, the hair at the root is lighter coloured and sparser. But it doesn't feel that much different when he closes his eyes and drags his open mouth along the underside, from the base to the tip, until Omega leans his hips in a little. He feels the head press, throbbing and insistent, against his lips and they fall open slightly, tasting bitter moisture. He licks his lips, tongue brushing against his already wet, hard heat, and Omega presses his body into him again so the head of his dick enters his mouth. He curls his tongue around it and sucks at it like he's hungry for the taste, hollowing his cheeks out so the pressure keeps it trapped there in his warm, wet mouth.

Then Omega grabs him by the hair at the nape of his neck and slides in deeper, his head tipping back a little, spit running down his chin, his throat opening and relaxing as his entire body goes slack and pliant.

Seth takes even breaths through his nose as he starts thrusting into his mouth at a steady pace. He winds a handful of Seth's hair tightly around his fist, tugs at it firmly, so his mouth opens even wider, and it almost feels like Dean's hands on him as he closes his eyes and leans into his touch a little.

He thinks about Dean taking off Omega's stupid fucking suit and pushing him down onto his knees in front of him, fingers tangled roughly in his hair as he guides his mouth over himself until he chokes on it, in a locker room that's so far removed from any he and Dean ever shared, like a different planet that Seth will never set foot on, and his eyes are burning from his airways being constricted but he can feel himself starting to get stiff again.

And maybe they've been quiet for too long, or maybe Omega's sensing that, because he just has to open his mouth and be an asshole again.

"Like that, huh?" he asks breathlessly as he keeps up the unyielding motions of his hips. "Yeah, I did too. Your boy knows what he wants. Isn't afraid to take it. That's what you like, huh? Someone using you."

And Seth wants to curse him, wants to fucking _bite_ him, but his mouth's forced too wide, his jaw aching and stiff as Omega fucks his throat relentlessly, keeping it open. 

He feels him brush against the back of his throat and it feels _good_ , feels familiar. It almost feels like where he should be, the one thing that makes him feel like who he used to be once, who's been stolen from him. Like he's still a real person and not a shadow. Maybe he's just futilely hanging on to something he needs to accept is gone, but he doesn't _want_ to. It's too hard. Facing the terrifying unknown of becoming someone else completely in a brand new world, all alone. He doesn't trust himself to know what's right anymore. Seth hasn't liked himself for a long time and maybe whatever he allows himself to become next will just be some darker, more sinister creature that he's been trying to keep at bay this entire time. Someone who has nothing to lose because he has no hope anymore. Maybe right here is exactly where Dean left him six months ago. On his knees, empty and adrift. And maybe choosing to drag himself back up to his feet, to take one step, and then another, means he can never go back.

Seth forces himself to stop thinking, just feeling it, and he reaches up and grasps hold of Omega's hips, asking for more, and he pulls him closer by his hair and he hits the back of his throat again, and again, and then he's spilling hard and thick inside his mouth without warning.

It doesn't matter though, Seth's ready for it, he _wants_ it. He swallows all of it down and his stomach's not sick anymore, the alcohol's settled warm and pleasant in his gut — And it feels _right_. Omega pulls out before he's done and he tugs at himself a few more times, painting a stripe down his chin like he's marked him.

He watches as Omega quickly puts his pants back on, tucks himself in, efficiently buttons half his shirt again, and then he goes over to the sink where the water's still running. He carefully washes his hands and dries them off, as Seth stays there on the floor, wiping sticky come out of his beard, flexing his jaw to alleviate the soreness, his fingers gently massaging over the hinge.

He figures that's it, that's the end, and now they'll go their separate ways. Seth will get on a plane all by himself and go back to an empty house; Omega will probably go back to Dean's hotel room, his warm bed. And they won't see each other for years again and he'll probably forget all about this. But then he turns around and comes back over to him.

He just reaches down and rests his hand on his face, a facsimile of tenderness again, raises his chin up towards him with his thumb. "I hope you're watching on Saturday. Just picture yourself in my place. When he's trying to destroy me. All his attention focused on me. Like I'm the only thing that exists to him. Maybe he'll make me bleed like you want him to make you bleed. So you know he still cares about you. But he's still... _not here_. Because it's not about you, Seth. Not really. He doesn't even wanna hurt you anymore because you're not anything to him anymore." 

He pulls away to grab his jacket from off the floor, brushing it off, smoothing out the wrinkles, and Seth rises to his feet in one motion, spine straight, back at the same eye-level with him.

Seth just faces him head-on, unflinching. "Don't worry. One day, it'll happen. We'll finally get in the ring after all this hype, all this fucking foreplay, jerking each other off in interviews for years — And I'll show you I'm better than you. I'll remember all of this and I'll pay you back in kind. Dean's not the only one who can make you bleed."

Omega just throws his shoulders back, feet planted firmly into the ground, tips his face up at him like a challenge, eyes seeing right through him again. "But it won't matter, will it? Because you still won't have him."

Seth just stares at him, ice coursing through him suddenly.

"He _left_ you, Seth. Accept it. It'll be better for you in the long run," he tells him placidly. Like he's doing him a favour.

He tosses his jacket over his shoulder with a flourish as he turns away from Seth. He unlocks the door and leaves him still standing there, somehow with even less than he had before.

When he emerges back into the crowded barroom, Omega's long gone just like he expected. When he returns to the bar and takes out his wallet, the barkeep informs him that it's already been taken care of. Because of course it is. He leaves a tip of his own anyway and then slowly, casually walks through the bar, weaving between groups of people, and out the front door, hands tucked inside his hoodie pockets. No longer caring at all if he's noticed here.

He stops on the sidewalk outside, closes his eyes for a second, breathing in the fresh, brisk air, and then he leans his head back until his neck aches, raising his gaze up to the night's sky above, eyes wide and unblinking, taking it all in. And at least the stars are still there, peeking through the infinite darkness, even when everything else is gone. Everything in his life may be different but the earth is still here and spinning. And maybe he doesn't have to watch it all fade away. Maybe he can't ever go back, but he can still move forward somehow.

He slowly drops his head and looks down at his hands instead as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He rubs his palms vigorously into the front of his jeans to warm them up, relieve the cramping in his joints from the cold, and then he rapidly types out two brief sentences, the message he's meant to send for months but never did. He stares at it for just a fleeting moment before he deliberately hits send and repockets his phone and walks away into the night, eyes pointed straight ahead of him.

_I'm sorry. We should talk._


End file.
